The Contact 23
by TheContact
Summary: IPA- To protect and serve all universes. Contact 23-1 is faced with retirement and the new 23-2 must be chosen. The journey of 23-2 begins. R for language and violence.
1. Disclaimer

Disclaimer: I, President of The Contact Publishing Corporation, Mr. Norton, do not own any of the characters portrayed in any cartoon, video game, book, or movie, except for the IPA and all members of said agency. All independently created characters have been created solely for the purpose of being used in my stories. I, as well as my corporation, do not have any involvement in the creation of the storyline of any cartoon, video game, book, or movie. If any of the companies have an issue with my writing of these stories, I wish to say right now that I make no money off of the stories I write. In short, I'm just a fan who likes to put my own spin on the stories of others. Don't get mad at me!


	2. Episode 1 Journey of His Destiny

Through the dim red light of the conference room, Contact #23-1 could make out the faces of his commanding officer and Contact #49-3. He squinted slightly, as age was a cruel mistress, sucking the life out of everyone. A monitor built into the table before them displayed a grainy video of a young man sitting outside of a high school reading a space aeronautics textbook. The officer was first to speak.

"What is his relevance to you, number 23?"

"You know I'm too old for this."

Number Forty-nine's face lit up. "82 is old? Come on, there are Contacts throughout the IPA at least 350 years old."

"Not everyone is blessed with long life."

The officer looked sternly at Twenty-three, and then looked to the screen again. "You still haven't answered my question. How is he relevant?"

"Number 86 told me that he saw this in a vision. He told me someone from out of my realm would take over. He did all kinds of prophetic nonsense and said it was a young man of 15, living in Miami on Earth, and all of his number readings popped up either 23 or 49."

The officer was not surprised. "Well, then how do you know who it is? How do you know it's this young man?"

"Eighty-six has spoken to him."

"Matt, what are you doing?"

He turned his headphones louder as he sang to the lyrics,

"Come out of things unsaid,

Shoot an apple off my head, and a,

Trouble that can't be named,

Tigers waiting to be tamed, singing…"

"Matt, why don't you answer me?"

"Mom, can't I have even a little peace?"

"You're supposed to be studying your space aeronautics."

"I don't want to grow up being a space pilot or anything, I want to write stories! And I want to help people; I want to leave aeronautics to a hobby."

"Will writing get you money? Will being in the police get you money? No. Being a captain will get you money, and your father and…want …successful…"

Slowly, he turned up the headphones, the voices pounding the song like a wall. His mother slowly became less and less distinct, but he continued to look at her like a puppy that peed on the rug, innocent and puzzled. She stormed off and he laid back down and peered pensively over the letter he received, stuck in the crease of his locker.

"You are very special to us, and you are yet to know of your greatness. There is a craft being constructed at Cape Canaveral called the _Redemption_. It is meant to carry passengers and supplies to other planets. It holds something called a wormhole creator. You may know of this. Find a way to it. I know you know what you want to do. Escape.

221.132.235.49- IP

Signed,

86."

Matt looked at the article that came in the envelope. "Experimental Worm-Hole Craft Project Begins."

He knew that NASA was protected by the Army. How was he to gain access? He looked at the paper again and the odd Internet Protocol number. He got off of his bed and typed the number into the Address Bar of the Explorer. What popped up was astounding: a message written directly to him.

"Matt, you were recommended to me by a commander high up in the ranks of the Rebel Army Collection. You have been selected to help us on a job we are going to do in a week. If you choose to accept, come to the abandoned warehouse south of 86 St. in Hialeah. The password is Redemption."

"Eighty-six, can you get a lock on our target?" #49 and #23 sat intently, waiting for a premonition.

"Yes… I feel him, and he is being pursued. Officers of the Galactic Patrol are chasing him right now. He will be here in an hour."

"Good. And how about the younger one?"

"He is following directions to the warehouse on a bicycle. His history is as it should be."

"Good. Now, 49, where did you come up with a name like Rebel Army Collection?"

"R.A.C.? I was in my kitchen looking at the spice rack, and I just went from there."

"What gets me is that he believes this line of bullshit we're feeding him."

He pedaled furiously. It was 6:04 when he left, and it was about nine when he finally got to the warehouse. The building was dilapidated and the doors hung loosely from their hinges, nearly breaking them from the supporting walls. He dropped the bike, approached the door and knocked. A slide opened and two cold blue eyes peered out on him.

"Password."

"Uh, Redemption."

The slide snapped shut and a large man with numerous piercings on his ears, nose, and eyebrows pulled the door open. He looked into the dank storage area at the almost infinite number of boxes and crates, all broken, except for 9 large green crates. Then the man grabbed Matt's arm, swung him around, padded him down and looked for possible wires.

"He's clean."

"Good." A man stepped from behind a large crate, followed by several other men toting large guns and boxes. "So, Matt, you're the guy my commander told me was good enough to take control of a space craft and fly it to wherever we need to go?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"Heh. Funny, even around guys carrying loaded assault rifles."

"One, why would you shoot me if you need me, and two, they're not loaded."

"Hmm, smart, perceptive, witty, and somewhat fearless. You've probably got what we need."

"Hope so. So what are you offering for a job like this?"

"You know, for a little kid, you sure have a lotta balls. $20,000 for each involved. It's pretty risky though, are you willing to take a risk like stealing a government-protected project vehicle?"

"I just don't give enough of a shit about anyone else to care."

"Ah, the "got-nothing-to-lose" type. Alright, you're in. Operation: Garden Flower has begun."

One Week Later

Matt was shuddering. He hadn't been home in a week. He heard the amber alerts on the news, on the radio, and on the signs above the highway flashing in yellow. Now he sat in a van on a three-hour trip up to Cape Canaveral. Now, he knew the names of the 4 other rebels he met: Jonathan, the squad leader and weapons expert; Marcus, the electrician; Jose, the man on the inside; and Ken'ichi, the driver. Matt was the technician now, and the guys had gotten used to calling him Bot, as he was building a small robot that could fit into the duct containing wires connecting the Anti-Theft device to a small bomb in the engine room of the ship.

"Alright, we should be coming close to the Space Center soon. Just a quick run-through. Ken'ichi will keep the van running, while Marcus and Jose go in the sewers and cut the line connecting power to the main server, as well as power to the alarms and security towers. We have three minutes after cut-off to go in, steal the craft, and take off. To escape, we need to get out of the solar system and remove the tracking systems. Then, when we take this to Mars, we can sell it on the underground market. Big moo-lah, got it? Keep your eyes on the prize."

Both Matt and the team were keeping secrets from each other.

"Black Fox to Red Gator, is the coop door loose? The fox is ready to eat the goose."

"Copy, Black Fox, the door is loose and the dog is in the house."

The lingo was unprofessional, but Matt wasn't worried about that. He was more worried if his plan would work or not. A barrel-less, butt-less M4 weighed his hands as the thoughts of failure weighed his mind. The robot worked fine except for a minor technical glitch, that if the right arm moved too fast, the left arm would lose power. Although minor, he still worried about his partners. Would they shoot? Would he have to shoot them?

"Psst, come on! Let's go," whispered Jonathan as they slipped under the gate. Matt scuttled after under the fence and slowly crept while he watched lights deaden as the power faded from them. "Keep moving. It's in a hangar, and we will have to shoot to kill in there."

After they opened the side entrance to the hangar, they found that there was no one inside. "We're lucky. Get to the door of the craft. The code is 2, 5, 1, 4, 7, 5, 9, 8." Matt keyed the code in and watched as the airlock opened, exposing a rather luxurious first-class seating arrangement. He moved to the vent and placed the robot inside. He watched on a small screen as the robot crawled over wires and circuits. "Hurry up," shouted Jonathan as he slowly moved toward the door of the hangar. This caught Matt off guard, as the robot accidentally loosened a wire. He didn't see this.

He turned back to the screen and pushed forward on the joystick, moving the robot closer to the wire. He quickly activated a pair of automated scissors and cut the wire with ease. He then raced the robot as swiftly as possible from the guts of the system, pulled it out, tossed it across the floor, dashed to the controls, and remotely opened the doors of the hangar.

Immediately, he closed the doors of the ship by button control and started the ship. This startled Jonathan, who was at least 15 feet from the ship. Matt lurched the ship forward as Jonathan pounded his fist on the door. Matt found that the controls were more of a Harrier jet than a commercial airliner, and took to shooting up in the air, leaving Jonathan to look up at the ship, leaving him behind. Matt pushed forward on the throttle and the ship instantly pulled to 120 miles per hour. He looked at the schematics of the worm-hole conduction system, and after pressing a random set of coordinates, he activated the system. But the loose wire faltered, and for a split second, he swore he saw a small red object fly past the front of the craft. The ship launched into the worm-hole, and the ship, Matt, and the red object disappeared.

Jonathan jumped in the van and the team pulled away, just as power returned to the Space Center.

"What happened, Jonathan?"

"Everything went according to plan."

#23 looked at the van as it pulled away. "We'll meet soon, Matt, really soon."

End Episode…


End file.
